


The Lamps Are Going Out

by Decepticonsensual



Series: The World Is Not Enough (Tales from Autobot Spec Ops) [9]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: In the aftermath of a mission that forced him to get close - too close - to a mech he was ordered to murder, Mirage wants nothing more than to be alone.  Or so he thinks.Jazz, of course, knows better.
Relationships: Jazz & Mirage, Mirage (Transformers)/Original Character(s)
Series: The World Is Not Enough (Tales from Autobot Spec Ops) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/379639
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	The Lamps Are Going Out

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for discussions of violence/political assassination, including brief descriptions of gore.
> 
> This fic is part of a series of short fics I wrote on Tumblr for prompts taken from this list: https://decepticonsensual.tumblr.com/post/631057835507286016/two-part-drabble-game 
> 
> The fics will all be archived here as the series "Tiny Important Words" - a name taken from the way Rewind describes what the Functionist Council has taken from Dominus Ambus in MTMTE #35, "The Custom-Made Now". The prompt for this story was:
> 
>  _not wanting to be alone_ \+ "The guilt is eating me alive."

“You want some company?”

Mirage really didn’t, but he glanced up at his commanding officer’s twinkling visor and knowing smile, and nodded as graciously as he could, shifting over on the narrow ledge to allow Jazz to drop down beside him. They sat in silence for a moment, gazing out over the lights of Iacon, such as they were. Wide swathes of darkness cratered the skyline where bombs had taken out some of the city’s most beautiful buildings - the Senate, the crystalline structures with revolving restaurants or nightclubs atop them, and, of course, Mirage’s one-time home in the Towers. Most of the lights that remained were dimmed by energon shortages, or switched over to a dull emergency red. But they were there. In the cracks around this war, life somehow went on.

“Mission was a success, then” Jazz said, after long enough that the sudden break in the silence made Mirage jump.

“Yes. The target was eliminated at 0800, and I was able to evade his guards and make it out without requiring extraction.” Cold words, with nothing in them to send his spark racing, the way it did when he recalled what the target - crime lord, suspected Decepticon sympathiser, and Mirage’s lover during the two months it had taken him to work his way into the mech’s confidence - had looked like, sprawled across the bed of his penthouse suite, optics frozen open in lightless horror, spilt energon pooling under his corpse. “I said as much in my report. I’ve already sent Prowl the data files I took from the target’s office.”

“Did you like him?”

“Oh, yes. Adored him. The guilt is eating me alive.” Mirage rolled his optics, and abruptly shifted from sarcasm to his very iciest tone, rich with every ounce of reproof those cut-glass Iaconian syllables could hold. “I know I may not have your experience, Jazz, but I am a professional. I don’t develop feelings for my targets.”

Jazz flashed him _that_ smile, and said, as breezily as if he were commenting on the weather:

“I do.”

“You… _what_?”

“I have feelings about my targets. It’s hard not to, when you’re spending so much time with them - and what you’re doing is already hard enough. Undercover, you spend every waking moment keeping a handle on your expression, picking your words, making sure the love light’s bright in your optics…” Jazz glanced sidelong at Mirage, and Mirage was afraid for a moment that there must be _something_ \- a blush, a look, an uptick in the rhythm of his spark - that would give away just how much he _had_ felt, and how far from truly professional he felt now. “Point is, you don’t need to be fighting yourself on the inside, too. Feel what you feel. Be honest about it, at least in your own head. And then let it move through you, and let it go, and do what you’ve gotta do.”

Mirage stared at his hands as he folded and unfolded his fingers. “What kind of feelings do you have?”

“About my targets?” Jazz tipped his head back, rubbing his jaw. He said, softly, “Rage.” Then, “Sometimes. Sometimes, it’s hard to tamp down that anger. But other times, it’s… intrigue. Wanting to understand them better. Pity, once in a while, if it feels like they didn’t have much say in where they are. And I’ve liked a couple, too. More than a couple. Easier to just admit it, than try and make myself hate them, all while I’m still pretending I love them on the outside.”

“Prowl always taught us -”

“Prowl… isn’t a field agent. And switching his feelings off - well, I’m not gonna say it comes easy to him, but… easi _er_. But that’s not the way for all of us, and I reckon that’s not the way it is for you.”

“But then - you can still kill them? Even after you admit to yourself that you…” _that you think they’re charming, and sly and funny and the way they look at you when they don’t know you’re looking makes you feel like your spark is in your throat_ “… like them?”

“Ain’t easy,” Jazz said, very quietly. “But yes. You said it yourself: professionals.”

After a long while, Mirage said, “I did. Like him.”

Jazz put his hand on Mirage’s shoulder and squeezed. It felt like grounding, for the wild, staticky flutter of his spark.

“Jazz.” Mirage frowned thoughtfully. “How did you know I didn’t want to be alone right now, when _I_ didn’t even realise?”

Jazz’s smile was sharp, but not unkind. “Experience, remember? Let’s just say I’ve been where you are.”


End file.
